


Really Skinny Girl Jeans

by wonderfullybland



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Awkward Boners, Fluff, M/M, Sexual Frustration, Tattoo Artist Patrick, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 18:57:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3219806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderfullybland/pseuds/wonderfullybland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Your tattoo artist for today is incredibly sexually frustrating. Please consider getting a tattoo away from your crotch and wear loose-fitting jeans to your session."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Really Skinny Girl Jeans

**Author's Note:**

> This is from about a year ago but it wasn't finished until now (obviously). A result of a Best Ink marathon and, y'know, Pete Wentz.
> 
> I don't actually know anything about tattoos, so if any of this sounds a bit fictional, it's because it totally is.

Pete is under the firm impression that tattoo artists should not be allowed to be attractive.

They should vet that stuff out at tattoo school or… wherever it is that they go. All the hot artists should be taken to one side and informed of their incredible facial features and then advised against a career involving this amount of casual bodily contact. 

And if attractive tattoo artists can’t be banned all together, then Pete would like them to at least come with a warning. _Your tattoo artist for today is incredibly sexually frustrating. Please consider getting a tattoo away from your crotch and wear loose-fitting jeans to your session._

A simple announcement like that would have saved Pete a whole lot of trouble. He knew it as soon as he met the artist, _Patrick_ , who was officially the cutest guy in the whole parlor. They went through the design, placement, colors, and Pete found himself fighting a losing battle when his eyes kept sticking to Patrick’s mouth as he spoke. He licked his lips _a lot._

When Patrick comes back with the finished sketch, well. Pete is officially head over heels. It’s sometime between Patrick asking Pete to ruck up his shirt and Patrick’s (gloved) hands smoothing the stencil onto his hip that Pete realizes he's made a huge mistake. Very cute guy spending at least two hours camped out round Pete's hips? An official recipe for disaster.

And Pete is wearing really skinny girl jeans today. 

The first few minutes go pretty well - the pain from the needle overrides any thoughts he might be having about Patrick's hands or his mouth (oh God, his _mouth_ ), but it doesn't last long. He soon gets used to the pain, and Patrick's not much of a talker so then there's nothing to distract him from Patrick's proximity to his dick - and what that proximity is currently doing to said dick. It gets worse with every shift of Patrick's hand against his hip, and it gets really frustrating really quickly.

He bears it for about fifteen minutes – and he's quite proud of himself for lasting that long – but no, he needs to do something about this dick situation. He just needs to move a little, find a better position in the stupid skinny jeans, then he can sit pretty for the rest of the session.

He's trying to be subtle about it, honestly, but every little move jostles Patrick - he's resting his arm along Pete's leg to steady his hand, and when Pete twists again, almost completely ruining Patrick's line work, he can feel the artist's irritated huff of breath on his bare skin. Patrick mumbles out a sharp _"stop"_ as Pete wriggles, pushing down harder with his arm to try and pin Pete to the table, and Patrick definitely means well but he's making Pete's situation about ten times worse. 

"I just need to-" Pete gasps, and Patrick thankfully takes the hint. He finishes his line and sits back, raising an eyebrow at Pete. He's clearly bugged about having to stop work because his client just can't _lie still_ and he's infuriatingly cute when he's pissy. Pete does feel fleetingly bad for interrupting, but his discomfort quickly outweighs his guilt. 

Obviously by this point, Pete could not be more aware of Patrick's proximity to his dick, but he refuses to be shy about reaching down and adjusting his junk in the ridiculous confinements of his jeans. He's already half-hard and his jeans are _really tight_ , so he can't find a position that's actually comfortable without taking the damn jeans off. Given the situation, that might be overstepping a few boundaries, so he shifts around until he finds something at least bearable, swiveling his hips and yes, this is better. It's not perfect, but he can live with it until the tattoo's finished.

When Pete looks over, Patrick is staring fixedly at the floor, blushing right to the tips of his ears. Pete’s sure he’d be just as red if he had any shame at all (and he tries to ignore the little interested twitch in his dick at the color on Patrick's pale skin because _seriously?_ )

"Sorry," Pete says, settling back down on the table so Patrick can continue. 

In true soldier spirit, Patrick gets straight back to work, but he's thankfully shifted himself further away from Pete's dick. He doesn't let the atmosphere get weird, saying quickly, "Don't worry. Happens a lot."

"Really?"

"Yeah,” Patrick replies coolly, putting the needle back to Pete’s skin like there’d been no interruption. “Some people, the pain..." he trails off, shrugging as he wipes a bead of blood away. "It's no big deal."

Pete is equal parts relieved and disappointed at Patrick's assumption that he's some kind of masochist. Don't get him wrong, he's not opposed to a little pain, but that's not what it is this time. The _real_ thing turning him on is Patrick and his pretty mouth and the way his hand keeps stroking over Pete's hip and that look he gets on his face when he’s concentrating – basically, everything about the guy is driving him _nuts_ and it sucks that Patrick doesn't know that.

Still, Pete knows better than to make things awkward between himself and the person currently jabbing a needle ten times a second into his skin. Strangers tend not to react too well to Pete telling them about all the dirty things he wants to do with a perfect little mouth like theirs, and while he's sure Patrick is professional enough to refrain from messing up the tattoo on purpose, he still doesn't want to take the risk.

Pete doesn’t say anything in response. He laughs sheepishly instead and drops his arm down over his eyes. He's not going to look at Patrick any more, he decides. Block out the visual stimulation – that should help.

It definitely does the trick; his mind quickly wanders away from the tattoo parlor and he feels his dick situation cooling down as he hums the theme tune to _Full House_ in his head. He can feel Patrick shading something now, and it tickles more than hurts. It’s actually quite relaxing.

"I mainly do girls though," Patrick says after a minute, and Pete snaps back to reality because he’s suddenly choking on his own spit. All the blood rushes straight back down and Pete can’t help his whole body shaking as he tries to get his breath back. Luckily, Pete’s spectacularly disruptive convulsions don’t ruin the tattoo - Patrick had been dabbing something against Pete’s skin at the time and only sighs at yet another interruption and presumably at Pete’s dirty mind too.

"I just meant,” Patrick says as Pete tries his best to lie still again, “it's not so... noticeable, most of the time."

Pete knows he supposed to be ignoring Patrick and keeping his situation under control, but he just can’t help himself. Arm still over his eyes, he says, “You mainly do girls?”

Patrick had just put the needle back to his skin, but Pete’s words make him pause in his work. He's probably frowning at Pete’s hip, maybe fixing an incredulous look at Pete’s covered face, but then he makes a soft noise which Pete refuses to accept as anything other than a laugh.

"Yeah, tattoos, girls,” Patrick says unhelpfully. Pete feels the needle pierce his skin again, then there’s a second of silence and Pete’s weak – he peeks out from underneath his arm and sees Patrick is focusing on the tattoo again, tongue poking just a little out of his mouth. It’s just so unfair. “Most people who come to me are girls. I guess I'm the least-threatening artist here."

Patrick has a point. While none of the other artists (well, none that Pete has seen, at least) are particularly scary-looking, they are all heavily tattooed and overwhelmingly pierced. Patrick, with his clear, pale skin, and geeky glasses, soft strawberry-blond hair and pink lips… Pete can understand girls flocking to him. 

Hell, _Pete_ flocked to him.

And Pete’s definitely going to blame the pain endorphins and Patrick’s perfect little mouth for why he’s opening his own mouth and saying, "You’re really cute."

Patrick stills, needle frozen just above Pete’s skin again. If Pete didn’t already have his arm there, this is the part where he would smack his palm firmly down on his face. _What did we say earlier? Do not make things deliberately awkward between you and the guy wielding a very sharp needle. Great job, Pete. Way to go._

Patrick’s still quiet, and Pete starts counting the seconds in his head so that he can accurately measure the most excruciatingly embarrassing moment of his life. It’s 12 whole seconds before Patrick speaks again.

"Thank you," he says softly, and Pete swears he can hear the smile in Patrick’s voice. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

There’s a sort of crackling sound in Pete’s brain as all his thoughts turn to static, and he starts grinning like a damn idiot. Patrick goes back to the tattoo like nothing happened, but Pete swears there’s something more joyful about the way Patrick’s tattooing him now. Maybe he’s being a little bit softer. Maybe he’s not as rigid as he used to be. Maybe he’s deliberately touching him more.

The rest of the tattoo flies by in a giddy haze for Pete, and before he knows it Patrick is washing the tattoo clean and sitting back.

“All done,” he says, and Pete finally opens his eyes to look at Patrick. He’s still blushing a little bit, but he looks proud and a little bit tired and so incredibly adorable and Pete can’t stop grinning at him. His megawatt-smiling actually deepens the blush on Patrick’s face, making it hit the tips of his ears again. Patrick clears his throat awkwardly and stands up, suggesting that Pete gets a look at his tattoo in the mirror.

Pete’s hip is sore by now and it kind of hurts to move it, so Patrick helps him get up, fitting Pete’s arm around his shoulders to ease him up and onto his feet smoothly. Pete is a firm believer in pushing his luck, so he doesn’t let go of Patrick when he’s supposed to and checks out the tattoo with him flush against his side.

The tattoo is incredible. The original sketch and the stencil both looked awesome, but they don’t even compare to the finished product. It is hands-down the best tattoo Pete has even gotten, and with combined achievements in skill and face, Patrick is officially the best tattoo artist in the world.

He swivels his hips slightly to admire it from different angles, then keeps up the pretense of checking the tattoo to give him a few seconds to admire how Patrick looks next to him. Honestly, Pete thinks they’d make a great couple.

“It looks totally amazing,” Pete says eventually, pointing at the tattoo as if Patrick didn’t know what he was talking about, then he decides to go for gold and puts his other arm around Patrick, pulling him in for a probably inappropriate hug. Patrick hesitates as he’s suddenly surrounded by Pete, but it doesn’t take long for him to relax into it, even putting an arm around Pete in return. Pete briefly considers never letting go of him, but then the length of the hug slips from ‘friendly’ to ‘a little weird’ and Pete reluctantly releases him.

“I just need to wrap it up,” Patrick says, stepping away to grab a bottle of gel and a bandage, then he comes back and – mother of God – gets down on his knees right in front of Pete.

“Oh God, please stand up,” Pete moans, burying his face in his hands as his jeans once again prove just how restricting and uncomfortable they can be. Patrick must be doing it on purpose by now; there is no way everything he does just so happens to turn Pete on to the point where it literally hurts.

As expected, Patrick ignores his whining, just lifts up the hem of Pete’s shirt and taps it against his waist.

“Hold your shirt,” he says, and Pete is still incredibly impressed at how professional he can be with Pete’s half-hard dick in his face. Pete settles for just one embarrassed hand covering his eyes and does as Patrick says. Patrick rubs the gel onto the fresh tattoo, then carefully tapes the bandage in place over it.

“There you go,” he says, and thank God he stands up again, finally snapping off his gloves and dropping them into the trash. Pete drops his shirt back down and picks up his jacket, wordlessly following Patrick to the front desk. As Patrick runs through the appropriate aftercare information, all Pete can think about is apologizing for his uncontrollable libido. Patrick shouldn’t have had to deal with all that, not when he’s only trying to do his job.

“Sorry for being the worst customer ever,” Pete says when Patrick finishes his speech. Patrick looks at him strangely as he sets a tiny bottle of lotion on the counter for Pete to take home.

“It’s fine,” he shrugs, but he doesn’t quite meet Pete’s eyes. “I’ve had a lot worse.”

The whole session comes crashing back to Pete in a hideous wave of embarrassment and the only thing he wants more than a hasty getaway from the parlor is to make sure Patrick isn’t scarred for life, but his brain’s not cooperating. “No, it’s… oh God, I am so sorry.”

“Honestly, it’s fine,” Patrick repeats, but this time he’s smiling and it’s small but genuine and it definitely makes Pete feel better. “I don’t know, if you want to make up for it, maybe you can take me to a movie or something.” Then he hands Pete the aftercare leaflet and there’s a phone number scrawled in the top right corner. Pete sends a quick prayer up to the plasterboard ceiling, and his face-splitting grin comes back with a vengeance.

“I can do that,” he replies, folding the leaflet carefully and stashing it in his pocket. Patrick still looks a bit bashful, but now Pete knows that shyness is just an act - he’s got smooth moves and mad game and Pete wonders how long he has to wait before he can call him. Honestly, he’d call him right now if he could.

Pete decides to leave before he messes anything up, so he takes the bottle of lotion and heads for the door with a dorky wave.

“Just,” Patrick says right before Pete closes the door, “wear looser jeans next time?”

Pete barks out a laugh, ducking his head as he finally feels a blush break out on his face. He nods firmly, then meets Patrick eyes to see he’s barely holding back laughter himself. “I can _definitely_ do that.”


End file.
